


endure and survive

by closingdoors



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, F/F, think of it as if TLOU and The Road had a baby, this came out softer than intended tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 17:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20344261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closingdoors/pseuds/closingdoors
Summary: When she spots Vanessa waking, Charity scratches at the wound above her eyebrow."Stop," Vanessa says almost automatically, "it'll end up infected. I don't have any penicillin left."Or: the apocalypse AU nobody asked for.





	endure and survive

"To the edge of the universe and back. Endure and survive."

**The Last Of Us**

* * *

March arrives in a haze of rain. 

Vanessa wakes the same way she has these past two weeks: to droplets of water splashing against her cheeks. She squints against the grey daylight, watching water filter through the canopy above her, the world around her so quiet and still that for a moment she can pretend it's just her in it.

She'd been having a good dream, that much she remembers. There's fragments of it that are still there. Auburn hair, the cut of Rhona's smile, the sky above them emblazoned with orange, beautiful in the way only the end of the day can be. Rhona had been saying something, but the words are lost now, tucked away in some memory she hardly ever visits anymore. She allows herself a moment to take a few deep breaths before she sits, pushing the grief away.

Charity's already sitting by the fire. It crackles happily, fed with bark and dead leaves, snapping at the air. She's roasting what looks like a rabbit above it. When she spots Vanessa waking, she scratches at the wound above her eyebrow.

"Stop," Vanessa says almost automatically, "it'll end up infected. I don't have any penicillin left."

Charity scratches one more time, making Vanessa wince, but lets go to lift the cooked rabbit from the fire. Vanessa's stomach is practically caving in on itself so she unwraps herself from her makeshift cot, collapsing it and stuffing it into her pack and changing into her day clothes before joining Charity's side. As usual, Charity doesn't say much, she simply divides the meat between their two meal tins, giving Vanessa more skin than she gets because - presumably - she knows Vanessa likes it, though she knows Charity would never admit to it.

They eat in silence, listening to the sounds of the world waking up around them. Distantly, she can hear the water rushing down the creek. Splashing against the rocks, the current practically tripping over itself in its haste to make it downstream. A few birds sing to each other cautiously. Their melody is calming and Vanessa eats without a worry. No-one harmful will be nearby if the birds sing like that.

"C'mon," Charity says after they eat, "it's time to keep moving."

_But where are we going? _It's the question that's been on the tip of her tongue for three months now, ever since she'd met Charity in the unforgiving December weather. Charity's lips had practically been blue and she hadn't had the energy to move, though her fingers had twitched for her dagger in its sheath. Vanessa had seen plenty of lose causes in her time, but she'd been unwilling to simply keep walking. She'd nursed Charity back to health and ever since then she's been following her, since following Charity means warm food in her stomach and protection from the rest of the world.

Sometimes, she does consider leaving. Before she'd met Charity, back when she'd still travelled with Rhona, they'd heard rumours of settlements. People who'd harnessed solar power, whose kids slept in their own beds every night and learned about the way the world used to be. Sometimes she sees herself leaving in the middle of the night and finding a settlement, with kind people who will give her her own bed to sleep in at night, and tell her about the way the world used to be. But there's something about Charity; she just can't bring herself to leave, even if the woman only looks after her out of gratitude, not because she actually likes her.

They walk for hours, headed east. They travel in different directions every day. She's never sure whether Charity is going anywhere specific, or if they're just living from day to day. Charity never leads them into the city, which she's grateful for - most people are kind and are just trying to survive, the same as them, but there are some groups that loiter near the towns who don't only hunt animals for food.

The rain patters gently against the canopy above them as they walk. Most of it's overgrown; she's seen pictures in books of the way greenery used to be. Forests were mostly left to maintain themselves, but the nature that neared civilisation would be clipped back from the roads.

They eventually begin to walk along an old road. The pavement is cracked and the paint that once existed on it eroded away with years of rainfall. Moss sprouts up in patches and some trees have pushed their way through. They climb over fallen logs and jump when a frog leaps from some of the shrubbery that's sprouted up in the middle, hastily jumping away from them, its perceived predators.

Charity finds them two more rabbits that day. Vanessa helps her skin them, though her handiwork is a little choppier than Charity's. They sit on the edge of the road and she wonders about where it leads. She wonders about the people who came hundreds of years before them and used these roads to travel every day. Had they known what was coming? What would they make of her and Charity sitting here now? She's too curious about it all, Rhona had told her that plenty of times. _What does the past matter? We're here now, _Rhona would say, and slip her arm through Vanessa's, and she would forget the questions for a little while.

"Good job," Charity says when Vanessa hands her the pelt. She tries not to preen. "You're getting better at that."

"I have a good teacher."

She watches the way Charity hides a smile. It's all a matter of baby steps. One day she'll learn what Charity's real smile looks like. She bets it's beautiful.

They veer off into the forest to sleep that night. Vanessa takes first watch and studies Charity's profile in her sleep instead of actually looking out. She looks different when she's like this; unguarded. Vanessa wants to sweep her hair back from her face and look at her properly. Feel the calloused skin beneath her own fingers. But soon enough it's time for Charity to take watch, so she shakes her awake with a hand on her shoulder, and slips into the cot Charity's warmed for her, back into dreams of orange skies and Rhona's smile.

* * *

At the end of March, they have a day where it doesn't rain at all. They happen across what Vanessa believes used to be a cottage. It's more ivy than brick, but she's utterly entranced by it anyway. Charity doesn't even reprimand her for spending twenty minutes simply running her hands across the structure before they make their way inside.

Dust flies off of the door as Charity barges it open. It groans loudly but Vanessa doesn't care: this is a forgotten part of the world, opened up to them. There's a moth-bitten armchair in one room and a relatively pristine rug covering the floor. She falls down in front of the fireplace, that's still filled with logs, and Charity withdraws her flint, sparking a fire that makes Vanessa reward her with a squeeze of her hand.

There's books, too. Several dozens of them. More than she's ever seen in her life. She brushes the dust away from the spines as Charity searches the rest of the house, scanning their titles. She doesn't recognise any of them. She pulls out various ones and studies their covers. They're still in good condition, though she thinks some of them might easily break if she opens them. She shoves a couple with blue covers and one with a bright red cover into her sack before Charity reappears.

"There's a bedroom down the hall. We could make sheets from the wool you've been harvesting," Charity explains. "You wanna stay?"

Vanessa glances about the cottage. The ceiling is barely higher than Charity's head and the windows are yellow with age. Dust covers every surface and it'll take a miracle to save the armchair.

"I love it," she declares.

* * *

The first night, she stays awake knitting. Charity snores loudly on the floor beside her - apparently unwilling to sleep in a separate room to her, though, of course, she doesn't say it - and before she knows it, the sun has risen again, and Charity's rubbing at her sleep-swollen eyes, face pinching up when she sees Vanessa's still awake.

"What're you doing?"

"It'll take me a week or two, so I thought it was best to get started on the blanket now. Pass me the bundle next to you." 

Charity does without comment. She sits beside Vanessa, closely enough that she wants to remark on it, but she keeps her mouth shut. Her hair tickles Vanessa's elbows every time she moves the stitch from one needle to the other. Vanessa finds she's perfectly content. 

"Where did you learn how to knit?" Charity asks quietly.

Vanessa almost drops a stitch. She covers it up, though she figures Charity wouldn't notice anyway, and clears her throat.

"My mother. She always made the clothes for me and my father. She taught me how to suture a wound, too. She was - she was really remarkable, even if she was cruel." 

"You all travelled together."

Vanessa glances over, surprised.

"Well, yeah. Who else would you travel with as a child?" 

Charity shrugs. "I don't really remember. I got separated when I was a kid. The lurchers were on their last legs, but they hadn't died out yet." 

"Oh. I'm sorry," Vanessa murmurs.

She has hazy memories of the lurchers: grotesque fungal creatures which had been civilisation's downfall. She remembers finding one once, barely past her fourteenth birthday. Her mum had pulled her away and explained what it was with as little detail as possible. Her dad would've told her the truth about it, but he'd already left by then, and it'd just been the two of them until her mum had disappeared one night, her body washing up against the river bank two days later for Vanessa to find. She'd been as bloated as one of the lurchers and Vanessa had ran without giving her a proper burial.

Charity doesn't say anything else. She simply watches Vanessa knit. 

Vanessa must fall asleep at some point. When she wakes, the ground beneath her is soft, though one point of it digging against her hip is pointed. She frowns and wriggles away, surprised to find her cot gives her that much room. Her eyes peels open out of curiosity. She isn't in her cot, or on the floor of the cottage, but in the bed. Charity's sitting at the end, tongue between her teeth, attempting to continue Vanessa's work. 

Vanessa watches her, relaxed and warm, her tatty bed linens tucked around her. Her foot is pressing against Charity's calf. She feels her muscles shifting as she guides the wool around the needles, her whole body moving with the action.

"You're getting good at that," she comments.

Charity startles. She gets as close to looking sheepish as she's ever seen her. 

"I have a good teacher," Charity replies, and Vanessa smiles.

* * *

They settle into a good routine. Charity goes out and forages for food - usually meat, but sometimes she comes back with berries she'd found along the way. Vanessa's been repairing the house once she finishes with their blanket. The kitchen is useless to them, they have no way to access power, but she still plucks some flowers from the front garden and sets them in an old vase she'd found. She and Charity eat at the table with the flowers between them, bright and colourful, even if their metal tins and cutlery are rusted with age and use.

When Charity's out, Vanessa likes to spend some time reading. After a month, she's barely even a fifth of the way into the owner's collection of books. She feasts on the words inside, the knowledge of the way life used to be. She learns about marriage and school and politicians. She learns that just a hundred years ago, people had been able to communicate with each other across the world on technological devices. Vanessa doesn't even know what the rest of the world looks like now. She doesn't know anything outside of the places she's travelled. She knows that the majority of the things she's seen are beautiful; the world is green and Charity is kind to her. She supposes it must be like that elsewhere.

At night, she and Charity sleep side-by-side. Charity complains in the mornings that Vanessa hogs the blanket, but never tries to take it back from her in the night. Vanessa reads to her sometimes, whenever she withdraws into herself, seeing things Vanessa can't. She has no idea if Charity hears any of the words she says, but she always seems calmer afterwards.

She knows that this can't last forever. There's places Charity wants to go. Staying too long in one place isn't safe. But she goes to sleep with Charity's body warm and soft by her side, the moonlight spilling in and painting her silver, and she's happier than she's been in a long time.

* * *

"Bite down," she instructs, and Charity does, teeth digging into the leather of her belt as Vanessa sutures the wound closed.

This time, it isn't above her eyebrow, but on her left forearm. Apparently she'd lost her grip at the river, gathering them more water, and grazed it. Vanessa suspects Charity's not telling her the whole story and she knows she'll be paranoid tonight, listening out to every noise she hears, but for now she focuses on keeping it clean and closing it as quickly as possible. Charity's blood smears her palms and stains her linens. There's so much of it and it makes her panic. 

Charity grunts, her pain threshold is remarkable, with each suture. In total she has to do six. When she ties it off at the end, Charity slumps with relief, and rifles through her pack for her canteen, gulping from it greedily. Water splashes over the sides of her lips and trails down her neck, dipping into her clavicle, and Vanessa watches it travel and wishes she could follow it with her own tongue.

"Thanks," Charity gets out afterwards, voice gravelly. 

"You must be tired."

Charity tries to deny it, but Vanessa shepherds her into the bedroom anyway. Charity doesn't sleep properly if she's not in the same room, so Vanessa sits on her side and goes through the things Charity had collected today: a hare, a few shards of glass, and a handful of blueberries.

She puts the glass away in the weapons drawer. Charity's unwilling to let any of her weapons go blunt and is always thinking of ways to make new ones with the things she finds. Vanessa doesn't have the heart to tell her she doesn't really need anything outside of hunting. The lurchers have been extinct for years and people are few and far between. The threat level is low. But if it makes Charity feel safe, then she'll let it slide.

As she skins the hare and snacks on the berries, she finds herself thinking about the things people used to do in their day-to-day lives, the things she's read about in the books. They did so much _talking. _Always about inane things: like whose parents they were going to visit for Christmas this year, or which one of them was having an affair, or what outfit they were going to wear on their date. She can't imagine having the lengthy conversations they did. She and Charity hardly ever exchange words at all and, mostly, that's just fine. Their focus is on survival, though Vanessa's beginning to wonder _why. _What's the point of survival if you don't get to experience happiness with someone?

She and Rhona had talked. A lot. They'd discussed where they'd come from, who'd raised them - when Rhona had been born, her grandmother had still been alive. She'd been around before the lurchers had appeared and she'd told Rhona tales of the way things used to be. Rhona would tell her the stories before they slept every night, though she sounded bored of them, like they didn't matter. But they _did _matter. If it weren't for the people that came before them, she and Charity wouldn't be in the cottage they're in now. Someone else slept in this bed and maintained this house and because of them, they now have a roof over their heads instead of stars.

At the thought of Rhona, Vanessa's eyes shut automatically, defending herself against the tears that rise. The hare hangs limply from her hands but she can't stop: she can see her, Rhona, her best friend, the woman she loved, smiling up at her. The sun is high in the sky and the fields are filled with flowers. Her hair catches the light, a brighter kind of auburn than usual, and she plucks dandelions from the ground and blows the seeds in Vanessa's direction, laughing brightly when she splutters. The pack on Vanessa's back is full with food for the both of them and Rhona's canteen has the pressed flowers Vanessa had gifted her the night before taped to it. They're happy. 

Beside her, Charity snuffles in her sleep. Vanessa startles and the movement wakes Charity, who meets her eyes, the wound above her eyebrow a faint scar now, the one on her arm still bright red.

"What sort of things should we be saying to each other?" 

Charity groans. "M'tired, babe. Dunno what you're on about." 

Dejected, Vanessa sets the hare back into Charity's tin. She's not focusing on it anyway. Charity sits up to take the tin from her and begins handling it herself, doing a better job than Vanessa even half-asleep.

"Is that what people did back then? Say stuff to each other?" Charity asks.

"They didn't have much else to do," Vanessa replies, watching the way Charity's hands work.

Charity nods. 

"Okay. Then we'll talk more."

* * *

One day, Charity returns with an pack full of ripe apples. They're bright red and shine like they're still under the sun. They sit in the place that used to be the garden - it's all indistinguishable now - and the warm May afternoon wraps around them as they try them for the first time. 

Juice bursts on Vanessa's tongue. She moans loudly, taking a second bite before she's even finished chewing the first, and Charity seems just as pleased. They both eat to the core of the apples and grab another and Vanessa's stomach churns with how sickly sweet it all is, but she doesn't care. Her hands are sticky afterwards and Charity flicks an apple seed at her just to tease. The sky is a mixture of pink and orange and she feels like she could do anything, so she leans forward and takes Charity's face between her palms, and kisses her soundly on the lips.

* * *

"You've done that before," Charity says, somewhat accusatory, as Vanessa emerges from under the blanket, wiping at her sticky chin.

"Yeah. With someone that didn't care about me," she replies, though speaking ill of the dead probably breaks all sort of moral code. She leans down to kiss Charity again and Charity's fingers curl around the nape of her neck, sure and strong and guiding. "You've done that before, too."

"With someone that I didn't care about," Charity returns, and slides her arms around Vanessa, until they lay connected to one another. "Is this alright?" 

Vanessa presses a kiss to her collarbone. 

"It's alright."

* * *

In the books Vanessa reads, marriage is always between a man and a woman, so she spends a lot of time wondering what she and Charity would've done, way back then. Maybe it had been allowed, but it hadn't been written about, which seems ridiculous, all things considered.

Maybe they wouldn't have even found each other. Maybe they would've been entirely different people, if they'd been born when there was still electricity and phones and people sending each other messages when they were at work. She thinks, if she'd been born back then, she'd have been some sort of healer. She can't put a finger on what kind of work Charity would have done. Had they had nomads back then, too?

Charity returns with strawberries and more apples and some blueberries and they make a salad, like Vanessa's read about. It's all so sweet and summery that Vanessa could cry. Rhona had never tasted fresh fruit like this. There's so much of the world that's opened up to Vanessa recently that people have never been able to experience. She closes her eyes and thinks of her mother, of her bloated body, battered and bruised from the current, and wonders if she would've made a different choice that night, if she'd enjoyed the simple pleasure of a fruit salad and the company of someone you love.

* * *

It happens during the night. She and Charity have the blanket draped around their shoulders, sat in front of the roaring fireplace, the book she'd been reading discarded and forgotten on the floor in favour of Charity's mouth on hers and her fingers between her thighs. Vanessa sighs and drags Charity closer and then there's a bang at the door. Somebody trying to open it.

Charity springs into action instantly. Vanessa tries to be brave, but most of the time she's terrified, and her limbs won't co-ordinate with her when she tries to wrestle herself free of the blanket. Charity's already gathered all of her weapons from the drawer and thrown Vanessa's pack at her when the door budges again. Vanessa slips it on, trembling a little, taking the dagger Charity hands to her and tries to convince herself that none of this is real. She doesn't cry and she doesn't scream and then the door is open and - 

It happens so quickly. There's three of them. One of them grabs her by the throat and she drops her dagger, scrabbling to get his hands off of her instead. She knees him in the balls and he groans, dropping his hold on her, but the next slaps her straight around the face and makes her vision go white. She doesn't know whose hands are on her now, tight around her throat and tugging at her clothes, but she can't breathe - 

And then she can. Vanessa gasps for air, doubling over, clutching her thighs. There's bodies on the floor in the shape of the three men who'd broken in. Charity's standing over them all, blood blooming across her t-shirt, but it's not their blood, even though the men are surely dead, and the blood dripping from her dagger is theirs.

"You killed them," she gets out. 

"They were going after you," Charity says, like this answers it. She staggers forward, clutching her stomach. "You're okay?"

"I'm okay. You're - " 

"I'm fine," Charity insists, but Vanessa has to wind her arm around her waist to keep her standing.

She glances through the house. At the unread books on the shelves, the blanket she'd made them covered in blood, the flowers still perky and colourful in their vase. They'd eaten there just an hour ago, their feet touching the whole time. 

"We can't stay here, can we?" She asks quietly.

"No, we can't," Charity answers, and so they don't.

* * *

Charity collapses a few miles into travel, even after they try to stem the bleeding. She dives head-first into the earth and Vanessa barely catches her. They hadn't had time to pack everything so now Vanessa has a needle but no thread. She wraps the only spare clothes they have around Charity's middle and applies as much pressure as she can, but they're out in the open, on the edge of the field where anyone could see them, so there's twice the danger.

Charity eventually comes around and Vanessa rests Charity's head in her lap, tipping water into her mouth. Charity drinks like there's not enough water left in the world, and maybe there isn't, because she finishes both canteens and they're miles away from the nearest river. She drifts back into sleep hurting and thirsty and Vanessa can't do anything except for brush her fingers through Charity's long hair and keep an eye out for any more danger.

* * *

They make it to the nearest river two days later. Charity's pale and sweating and slower than normal, all of which has put her in an awful mood, and Vanessa becomes her verbal punching bag until she provides her with more water.

That night, they camp by the river, the stars above them bright, the world around them quiet. The fire crackles and for a moment she thinks Charity stops breathing, but when she places a hand Charity's forehead her eyes open. She's running a temperature and her words come out slurred.

"Did I ever tell you about my little boy?" 

Vanessa's heart pinches. "You have a son?" 

"I did, but I never did. The guy who found me when I was a kid - Bails, that's what he called himself - he took him and buried him. I don't know where he's buried. I need to say sorry for letting him take him away," Charity explains, and then she starts to cry, so Vanessa manoeuvers her into her lap to hold her.

"That's what you're trying to find? His grave?" She asks, rubbing her thumb against Charity's temple.

"That's the only point of any of this. All of this fighting to survive. It can't be for nothing."

"There's more to life than grief," Vanessa says, and leans down to kiss her forehead.

* * *

The days begin to blur into one. The infection takes ahold of the wound, red and shiny to touch, oozing pus. They have no penicillin to fight it off, and the food Vanessa provides is adequate at best. She chances taking them near a city just to dive in and out of some of the shops that still stand tall. Of course, these have all been raided long ago, even the shop of a little village she finds. She tries searching the pub for good measure and finds a yellow mask and cape in the cellar, but no medicine. She returns empty-handed to a weak Charity, who smiles at her properly, like it's the last time she ever will, and Vanessa hates her because her smile is so beautiful, and she loves her.

* * *

Vanessa dreams about the books she used to read. She dreams about the life they never got, but all those other people had. She dreams about Rhona, about finding her with Paddy just two weeks into travelling with him, and she has nightmares about the way the river current had washed them away from her. She dreams about all of the people who've come and gone and how easily detachment has become. How survival is dependent on picking up and carrying on, no matter the circumstances.

_ There's more to life than grief, _ she'd told Charity, and she tries to make this true. She and Charity walk and walk and sometimes they laugh, and sometimes Charity's burning up so much that she cries, so Vanessa tells her the stories of the way the world used to be, of the men and women that lived together, and Vanessa asks if they would've been married, and Charity says yes.

* * *

They find the body of a lurcher one day. Charity barely has enough energy left to stand anymore. Vanessa sets up camp far away from the corpse but comes travelling back to it once Charity's fallen asleep. 

The lurcher looks like the one she'd found before. Bloated, covered in fungi, and disgusting. She throws her dagger at it just to make sure it's really dead, and it is, and then she kneels by its side, wanting it to be alive. If the lurchers were still alive, they'd have a reason to keep living like this, instead of like the old days. Back then, she would've just taken Charity to a hospital, and she would've been better in no time. She wouldn't live with the fear that she would become a memory just like Rhona. 

Now, she yanks her dagger free of the pathetic monster that'd killed that life, and she looks up at the moon and counts the stars in the sky.

* * *

Vanessa thinks she's dreaming, when she sees the settlement.

They're by a dam. They must be running power using the water. There's massive lights that shine down on them as they approach the gates. A few people patrolling the gates raise their weapons at them but must quickly realist they're not a threat: she can barely hold Charity up now.

They whisk Charity away to their medics and Vanessa's shown to a bed that's hers. It's a communal room, with more people than she's ever seen before, and she searches the faces for old friends and for her father, but doesn't see anyone she recognises. She experiences the luxury of a warm bath and freshly washed clothes. There are televisions playing films with children crowded around, watching aptly, while the founder of the place shows her around, introducing her to members that they pass, pointing out the livestock they survive on and the role every person plays here to keep it all going. She finds herself signing up to train as a vet.

"There's another settlement like this just thirty miles away. We have radio contact, they run on solar power," he explains, grinning the whole time, and she's smiling too, "I reckon in a few years there'll be more of us and life can begin again." 

_ This, _ she thinks, _this is the point of it all._

He takes her to the medic bay, where she intends to tell Charity everything; about the wonderful place they've found, about the children growing up without witnessing horror, the hope for more just like this. But Charity is deathly pale and her forehead is dewy with sweat. The medics don't say a word and Charity grins, high on the morphine they've given her.

She has enough energy to make it out to the porch of the med bay. Vanessa helps her take a seat outside. They have a view of the majority of the settlement. There's sheep and cows and children playing and an electric fence to keep threats at bay. There's adults laughing over card games and sharing rum. There's a young woman painting a mural on one of the walls, a multitude of wildflowers, all bursting with brilliant colour.

"Someday we'll go find your son," Vanessa promises, and links her hand with Charity's. 

"Yeah. Someday."

"For now, I think we're gonna be really happy here. You see? These people aren't grieving or surviving. They're living. We get to live now, Charity."

"Babe," Charity murmurs slowly, chest rising and falling with its fight for air, "just being with you is life enough."

Vanessa leans forward to kiss her. She wants to tell her she loves her but the sky is blue, there are children playing, and she's sure Charity knows it already. 


End file.
